


Open Door

by DegrassiFanatic



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DegrassiFanatic/pseuds/DegrassiFanatic
Summary: His arms come down to lift up Reid’s limp form as he cradles him close to his body. Uncaring about the way his shirt is getting wet or how the water is now flooding into the hallway or how he was supposed to call JJ after checking up on Reid.None of that matters anymore.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 18
Kudos: 147
Collections: Angsty Angst Times





	Open Door

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this on tumblr and i wasn't gonna post it here until i realized i accidentally orphaned my 9-1-1 fic, and i had to fill the void now i'm gonna go cry myself to sleep.

The moment Hotch had noticed Reid’s resignation letter amongst the scattered paperwork on his desk, he had known that something was irrevocably wrong. 

He had known something was wrong when Reid began to sneak off during work hours only to come back almost rejuvenated, when he would show up late to case briefings, when he began to snap at everyone and anyone only to grow quiet for the next coming days.

Hotch knows. He’d be a terrible profiler if he didn’t. God, he knows and he’s let it go on for far too long. He should have confronted Reid the day he noticed what was going on. 

Reid is a substance abuser. He’s addicted to drugs. An addict. 

It’s such an aggressive word; it sounds so harsh and hostile. Especially so, when Hotch takes into consideration that he’s talking about Spencer Reid, the least aggressive person he knows. 

Sighing, Hotch shakes himself out of his thoughts as he walks up to the front door of Reid’s apartment. He brings his hand up to rap against the wood when he realizes the door is left slightly ajar. 

Without hesitation, Hotch slowly pulls out his gun from his holster before nudging the door open all the way. 

Once he’s inside of the apartment, Hotch wades through every nook and cranny of the space to try and find any immediate danger in the form of a person. As he walks through, he notices most of Reid’s books are gone. All of the numerous shelves Morgan and him had hung up are uncharacteristically empty. Only a few paperback novels lay about. He also notices the empty space where he knows a chessboard used to occupy. 

Ignoring his observations for now, Hotch pushes several doors open to find each room empty on the other side. As he’s a second away from holstering his gun, he hears the sound of water running in the direction of a door he has yet to open. 

Keeping his gun close to his body, Hotch places his hand on the doorknob. He gives himself a moment before he shoves open the door to the bathroom. 

He’s greeted by the sight of Reid lying in the bathtub, still dressed in the clothes Hotch had seen him in earlier that day. His eyes are closed. His face looks years younger. 

Water is flowing over the edge of the ceramic tub, and pooling into puddles onto the tiles of the bathroom. On the granite counter of the sink, he spots an empty vial and a needle. 

Right away, Hotch holsters his gun as he rushes over to kneel beside the tub. His hands come up to shake Reid awake. 

The first time he doesn’t wake, Hotch pays it no mind and repeats the action, with much more vigour. 

The second time he doesn’t wake, his vigour is replaced with desperation. His eyes well up with tears. 

He doesn’t bother to try and wake him a third time, His hands simply rest atop of his shoulders, clenching into fists before unclenching. Hotch knows Reid will not stir. He knows that he’s too late. He knows that he let everything go too far.

He knows that he’s failed this man one final time. 

His mouth contorts into a sob that rips out of his lungs, as the tears begin flowing down his face freely. 

Hotch killed him. 

He killed him and now Reid couldn’t do any of those things he wanted to do. He couldn’t go visit his mother in Las Vegas. He couldn’t try and bring Elle back. He couldn’t go to that Criminology Conference he had been raving about before Hankel took away the bright and beautiful man Hotch had become accustomed to seeing.

He couldn’t do any of that anymore because Hotch had killed him. 

He may not have been the one to plunge the needle into his veins but, he didn’t bother helping him pull the needle out and away. 

He lost him. 

Just like how he lost Elle. Except this feels a million times worse because at least Elle was alive and well. 

His arms come down to lift up Reid’s limp form as he cradles him close to his body. Uncaring about the way his shirt is getting wet or how the water is now flooding into the hallway or how he was supposed to call JJ after checking up on Reid. 

None of that matters because the person that did matter was dead. 

Trailing his hand from Reid’s back up to his neck, Hotch pushes his face into the top of his damp hair. 

“Spencer.” he croaks out, “I’m so sorry.”

Then, he feels a frail hand clutch at his shoulder. 

“Aaron.” he hears Reid rasp out. 

Only pulling back the distance necessary, Hotch finds an exhausted grin playing across Reid’s features as he stares up at him, his eyes hazy for reasons that make Hotch’s stomach church with guilt. 

But, Hotch would rather have him like this, high and wholly alive, in place of a corpse.

Wordlessly, he gathers up Reid’s lithe and shivering body in his arms. As he stands up with the man in his hold, he uses his foot to flick off the faucet of the bathtub. He feels Reid’s own arms wrap around his neck sluggishly, and Hotch has to bite back a wince at the feeling of freezing skin pressing against his. 

“Aaron,” Reid mumbles again as Hotch steps out of the bathroom, “I think my dealer laced my stuff.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” he murmurs as he heads over to the bedroom. 

Once the two of them are inside Reid’s bedroom, he makes way towards the bed in the centre of the room. With the utmost care he can possibly manage, Hotch sets the man down onto the edge of the mattress. 

Before searching for a set of warm and clean clothes, he makes a small detour to the bathroom in order to find a dry towel. After he’s done that, Hotch wanders back into the bedroom and heads over to Reid’s dresser. He pulls open several drawers until finds everything he was looking for; t-shirt, sweatpants, socks.

As he turns around to walk back to Reid, he finds the man smiling up at him absentmindedly. 

Hotch settles himself on his knees in front of Reid. His fingers reach up for the soaking wet tie around Reid’s throat. He struggles with the sopping material but eventually he undoes it. It’s a similar feat for the sweater vest clinging to his thin torso but, nonetheless, he manages to pull it up and over Reid’s head. 

“This is not how I imagined you would be taking off my clothes.” Reid jokes.

“Hmm.” he hums non committedly, as he focuses on unfastening each button on Reid’s dress shirt. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Reid asks.

“Sure.”

“I’m in love with you.”

If Hotch already didn’t know that Reid was high on drugs, this unbidden confession was surely confirmation enough. 

Much to the presumed chagrin of Reid, Hotch was quite aware of the younger man’s feelings for him. He had been since the day he met him. Even a highly skilled profiler like Reid couldn’t control his microexpressions. 

It certainly didn’t help matters when Gideon told him to ‘let the kid down easy’ once Reid had joined the B.A.U officially or when Elle advised him to ‘be gentle with him’ before she left. 

“Thank you for telling me.” he says, sincerely.

Soon, the shirt is shrugged off Reid’s shoulders and Hotch wastes no time in drying off his torso. Once he’s sure he’s done a decent job, Hotch gets the t-shirt he picked out.

“Arms up.” Hotch requests softly.

Obliging him, Reid raises his arms up to allow Hotch to guide his limbs into the respective holes of the shirt before tugging it down over Reid’s head.

As Reid fiddles around with the hem of his shirt, Hotch switches his attention over to the top of his pants. He unbuttons them quickly and zips down the fly before drawing the garment down his hips to his ankles. With gentle hands, Hotch maneuvers each foot out of the pant leg before tossing it aside. 

“Are you mad at me?” Reid asks meekly, “For being high?”

Hotch could never be mad at Reid, not for something like this. 

No, he’s mad at Charles Hankel for abusing his son. He’s mad at Tobias Hankel for not being strong enough. He’s mad at the world that thinks the only thing Spencer Reid was good for was pain. 

He’s mad at himself. For not being there for Reid, for not being enough for Reid. 

“No.” he reassures Reid as Hotch heaves off the long socks from his calves, “I’m not mad at you. Not for this. Never for this.”

Balling up the socks, he drops them down to the ground. He plucks up the towel once more and dries off each of Reid’s legs down to his feet before helping into his socks first, then his pants.

Once he’s done assisting him, Hotch gets up off the ground and steps closer to Reid. With the towel still in his hand, he attempts to dry off Reid’s wet locks only to find that it’s fruitless with how damp the towel had gotten from the rest of his body. Without another thought, he pitches it aside. 

“You should get some rest.” Hotch murmurs as he strolls over to the lightswitch beside the door, “I’ll clean up the bathroom.”

Before Hotch can take another step, Reid lets out a whimper and reaches his arms out in his direction. His brows drawing together in worry.

“Can you lay with me?” he asks, “Please?”

Never being one to deny Reid, Hotch lets a little exhale before flicking off the lightswitch and making his way to the bed. As he toes off his shoes, Reid gets himself comfortable underneath the covers. 

From the second he gets beneath the covers, Reid huddles closer to his body and Hotch can feel the chill emanating from his skin. Bearing the brunt of the cold sensation, Hotch forces himself to wind his arms around Reid’s midsection, nestling him against his chest.

The two of them go quiet and Reid is well on his way to falling asleep but for some inexplicable reasons Hotch has a burning question on his mind. 

“What happened to all of your books?” Hotch asks quietly, “Your chessboard too?”

“I sold it.” he whispers, “And some of my other stuff.”

“To buy more drugs?” he asks.

At that moment, he’s not sure if he wants Reid to answer him at all. He’s not sure if he could handle the confirmation of what he had inferred. 

“I know you want to believe that I’m better than most addicts,” Reid starts off as he tilts his face up to look at Hotch, “But at the end of the day, I’m still a junkie with track marks on his arms.”

Immediately, “You’re not a junkie.”

A quiet chuckle makes its way out of Reid’s throat and the sound distracts Hotch because he cannot recall the last time Reid had ever laughed so freely. 

It must have been before Georgia. 

“Sometimes, my dealer gets me to sleep with people in exchange for drugs.”

The admission cracks against Hotch’s heart like a whip and the flinch is visible in his face. 

He thought he knew who Reid was. He thought he knew who his friend was but, the Spencer Reid he knew would never do that, would never subject himself to intimacy with strangers for an ounce of euphoria. 

God, how could Hotch let this go so far?

“Spencer…”

“I’m sorry.”

Reid sounds so small at that moment. It makes Hotch want to swaddle him up in all of these blankets to make sure no one could ever hurt him again.

In the end, though, Hotch knows the only real protection Reid needs is from him. 

“Are you disappointed in me?” Reid continues. 

“I think I’m disappointed in myself.” he says truthfully, “I think you should be disappointed in me.”

They fall in a silence. The only sounds that can be heard are the inhales-exhales wracking through Reid’s lungs and the whirring noises from the apartment above them. 

Hotch should have done something. He should have done anything. 

But, he didn’t. 

In his arms, Reid jostles around before wiggling up the bed to be eye to eye with Hotch. The glazed look and the dilated pupils brew bile in the back of his throat but, he forces himself to maintain eye contact nonetheless.

“Ask me why I left my front door open.” Reid requests.

Fulfilling his request, “Why did you leave the front door open?”

“I was hoping you would walk in.” he confesses as his cold fingers slot up between Hotch’s warm ones, “You saved me from Hankel. I thought maybe you could save me from myself.”

Tomorrow, Hotch promises himself. Tomorrow, Hotch will clean up the water in the hall. Tomorrow, they can have as many screaming matches as they need before Hotch convinces Reid he needs to get clean. Tomorrow, Hotch will help him detox, and he’ll be there for all of the bouts of vomiting, shivering, and sweating.

Tomorrow. 

Tonight, Hotch just wants to hold Reid close to him and remind himself that he’s still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> love you bye bye !!


End file.
